


Wouldn't Dream of It, Dearest

by YouLookGoodInLeather



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, Drunkenness, Eventual Smut, Fake Marriage, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-17
Updated: 2017-07-13
Packaged: 2018-11-01 23:28:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10932237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YouLookGoodInLeather/pseuds/YouLookGoodInLeather
Summary: Cassian and Azriel have to go spy on the Dark-Sorcerer to gather information. To avoid seeming suspicious, they have to pretend to be your local 'friendly gay married neighbors'. Azriel is not best pleased. Cassian is thrilled. Fluff ensues.





	1. It's Just Cuddling, It Doesn't Mean Anything

**Author's Note:**

> This was an accident. I tried to make it serious, hated it, and thus fell into fluffy oblivion. I do not regret it. Will rot your teeth it's so fluffy. Enjoy.

“We’ll need agents doing groundwork, collecting as much information as possible for before we strike,” Rhys said, rubbing his jaw, which was thick with three days worth of unshaven stubble. None of them had been sleeping or cleaning properly since Vassa had explained to them just what kind of trouble brooded to the east upon the Continent. “It’ll be a long mission. We can’t afford to reveal our intent until we are sure we have found a weakness to exploit.”

The tales they had heard of Koschei had left them all petrified, tales of a deathless sorcerer who could not be killed, for his soul was buried beneath a tree. A being who took all he desired without a second thought, and had countless monsters wielded in his charge to do his bidding. Most prevalent of all, however, was his penchant for stealing young virgins and beautiful maidens and enslaving them to his will, cursing them as he had Vassa.

And now he had set his sights on Feyre, the legendary woman from across the sea, a prize whose rarity eclipsed them all.

“I’m not sending anyone,” Azriel said shortly, arms crossed tight over his chest, his back tense, straight. “It’s too dangerous, and I won’t risk them on a suicide mission. I’ll go.”

“You can’t go on your own, Az,” Rhys countered. “Else you’ll end up just like Helion. No. I’ll go with you.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Mor, Az, and Amren all snapped in unison, making their high lord raise an eyebrow.

“You need to keep things in order here. Protect your mate,” Az said as calmly as he could manage when his High Lord insisted on being a self-sacrificing _moron_. Said High Lord huffed and pouted like a sulking infant, but did not protest further.

“Obviously, we know the solution to this,” Cassian said with a theatrical sigh, placing his hand on his chest before swooning against Azriel - it was a good thing Azriel was a well-trained warrior, because the bastard was _heavy_. “I must go too, to protect my precious little bat baby.”

“I’m older than you.”

“So precious,” Cassian sighed, now with an arm hooked around Azriel’s neck, trapping him as he stroked his hair with actual, _real_ fake tears in his eyes. “Too good for this cruel world.”

“At least we know he can act,” Rhys said dryly, bemused by the display before him but not shooting the idea down. “We can’t just have two Illyrian warriors turn up and move next door to his Lake. You’ll need a cover.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Amren said, eyes narrow, smile wicked as she studied the two boys. “I’ve got _just_ the thing.”

 

*

 

“What a lovely place,” Cassian remarked, looking around at the quaint little village and the cottage they had recently purchased. “I do think we’ll be quite happy here.”

“Oh, you have a wife?” Asked the girl from the adjacent house, who had come out to welcome the new neighbours and found herself really quite pleased to find a strapping, handsome man posing outside the gate.

Chuckling, Cassian shrugged. “I suppose you could say that. Dearest?” He yelled. “Stop obsessing over how the china is arranged and come meet our lovely neighbour. Caroel, was it?”

“Yes,” the girl, who was a new bride herself, said with a blush. “Have you been married long?”

“Oh no. We just got back from our honeymoon. Newly minted lovebirds we are. Dearest, do hurry up!”

Scowling bitterly, the person who emerged from the cottage did not look the slightest bit like a blushing bride. Instead he looked like a child who had just had his sandcastle destroyed, possibly seconds away from steam coming out of his ears. “What?” He snapped irritably at his ‘husband’.

“Just showing you off, darling,” Cassian answered sweetly, before lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper and murmuring to Caroel. “We’ve been travelling for two weeks. He gets awfully cranky when we can’t- _you know_.”

Whether Azriel heard that comment or not, Cass couldn’t say; Regardless, he gave Caroel the briefest of nods before turning on his heels and storming back off into the cottage. “Well, better go help out with the unpacking! Pleasure to meet you neighbour!” Cassian called, following him inside with a cheerful wave.

 

*

 

“You aren’t really mad, are you?” Cassian asked, as they sat on the couches that night and ate the tinned tomatoes and pasta Cassian had heated up for them. He’d go to the store and get some _proper_ food tomorrow.

“I am an Illyrian Warrior, Shadowsinger to The Most Powerful High Lord and Lady ever.” Azriel stabbed some spaghetti. “And here I am _playing house_.”

“For the greater good.”

“I feel ridiculous.”

Shuffling over on the cushions, Cassian slung an arm around his fake-husband’s shoulders. “Oh relax you big baby. It’s just pretending. Besides, how different is it really? We’ve lived together since we were kids. We’ve fought together. Trained together. And now we’re spying together.” Grinning, he twirled a forkful of spaghetti onto his fork and held it up to his beautiful wife’s mouth. “Just a chance to spend some good-quality bro time together.”

Azriel stared back at him. He deliberated for a hot second, before reluctantly glomping the offered food and swallowing. “Fine,” he said through his mouthful. “But I am _not_ doing anything… married couple-y.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, dearest.”

 

*

 

To be fair to Cassian, he had mostly forgotten that when Caroel and Kain asked them to come over for dinner, it would be as a couple themselves, not as two platonic dudes there just to eat pizza and banter. To his surprise, however, they arrived in the evening to their neighbour’s cottage to find it lit by candlelight, soft jazz music playing from the corner.  

“We haven’t had a couple over in _ages_ ,” Caroel said warmly, ushering them in and over to the set dining table. “Everyone who’s married has been fleeing away from- well, you know who. Don’t want to risk raising a child or settling down around someone so prone to…” She trailed off, her husband placing a comforting hand upon her shoulder. She forced a smile. “Well. Our families have been here for ten generations, so no way are we moving just for some stuffy old Tyrant. After all, if we did that in this world, we’d be moving every two years! There seems to be a surplus of their kind lately… I heard in Prythian, they just finished cleaning up after the last one.”

“What can you tell us about Koschei?” Azriel asked, ever the alert spy, locking onto the chance to dig up information like a hawk. He did seem a little bit _too_ keen though, in Cassian’s opinion, to be passing as a homely husband just over for a nice spot of dinner.

“Oh, you don’t want to hear about that,” Caroel fussed, dismissing him with a wave of her hand. “Not good talk for appetites. On that note, can I get either of you some wine?”

Azriel, being a professional douchebag, and a douchebag professional, declined, but Cassian downed nearly two glasses of the red before dinner was even served. Alcohol helped numb the lingering pain in his wings and muscles from the battle with Hybern, as the tears lingered, his wings hardly surviving yet another shredding so soon after the infiltration of Hybern’s castle. It also helped him make up for Azriel, who was stiff and cold and unconversational, so he covered up the silence with loud chatter and laughter. By dessert, he had one arm looped around his husband’s shoulders and was hugging him close.

“Ah yes, you see we met in a summer camp,” Cassian answered, when Kain asked for how they’d ended up together. “We _hated_ each other at first. This one’s always been a little bit of a sulky bat baby.” Said sulky bat baby was already flushed scarlet at the intimate hold he was in, and only burned darker as Cassian twiddled his forefinger into his cheek to give him dimples. “But you know, true love will out. We stuck with each other through thick and thin. It’s hard not to love someone so serious and caring.”

“And with such a lovely ass,” Caroel, who’d helped Cassian drink two bottles of wine, added. They both laughed at Kain and Azriel’s expense, and high-fived.

“I think we’d better go home,” Azriel said tightly, and Kain seemed to agree a little too quickly, a possessive hand resting upon his wife’s arm.

“Put I haven’t even told them about that one time when we-”

“Home. Now.” Az practically dragged him from his chair, only just catching him in time when his drunken legs failed to support him.

“Oopsie,” Cassian giggled. “You’ll have to carry me, my love.”

Seething wordlessly, Azriel said their thanks to their hosts and hauled Cassian out of the door, back out the lane, and down to their own cottage, struggling to manage him and the keys as he unlocked the door. “I am going to kill you,” he warned the other man under his breath, still warm in the face from humiliation.

“Oh, you love me really,” Cassian slurred with another giggle. “No one compliments your ass like I do.”

“Yeah, you’re a real poet.”

That seemed to be the wrong thing to say, for as Azriel set about heaving Cassian over to the sofa, he cried, “Shall I compare thy’s arse to a summer day? Tis more lovely and more shapely. Rough winds do shake the darling cheeks of-” With Cassian collapsed upon the sofa, Azriel grabbed a pillow and straddled him, smothering the terrible verse without mercy, ignoring the thrashing of his vulgar husband beneath him.

“Are you quite done?” Cassian yelled a muffled reply, which he took to mean yes. Sucking in breath as he was released, Cass looked up at his murderous beloved and grinned blearily.

“My beautiful wife.”

“You can’t get that drunk here. What if you’d said something?”

“Like how much I love you?”

“Urgh. You’re impossible.”

“Impossibly handsome you mean.”

“Impossibly imbecilic.”

Chuckling in good - or intoxicated - humour, Cassian gradually fell quiet, staring up at him. With a shaky, uncoordinated hand he reached up and managed to touch Az’s cheek, cradling his jaw. “You are lovely.”

“And you are drunk.”

“Even when I’m sober, you’re lovely. You’re always there, for everyone. Always protecting. Always caring.”

“I don’t know why I bother with you,” Az replied dryly, leaning away from his touch. There was something deeply disturbing about the way his stomach twisted in response, about how he wanted to lean _in_ , not out.

Gazing at him with heavy, sad eyes, Cassian said nothing for a moment before smiling softly. He moved his hand down to Azriel’s waist, and then hooked an arm around his chest. In a flash, he’d pulled him down, and lay spooning him on the sofa. “Stay with me tonight,” Cassian said. “It’s been lonely sleeping down here every night while you’re off in the bedroom.”

“I told you we could swap,” Az pointed out, very glad for the dark and Cassian’s inebriated state, for he did not want his burning cheeks to be witnessed by anyone, not even the Cauldron.

“That’s not the point.”

Frozen by the odd, clenching sensation in his gut, Az counted five minutes before he reckoned Cass had to be asleep, and moved to slip from his grip. “Stay,” Cass whispered, his breath hot and close against his neck, his ear, raising the soft, downy hairs upon his neck. “Please.”

“This sofa isn’t big enough for the both of us.”

Cass was quiet, before cuddling closer into his back. “I can’t sleep,” he said, no longer laughing, smiling - Az could hear the vulnerability in the wobble in his voice. “Not since…. Not since the battle.” He laughed, shakily. “I don’t know why. I’ve nearly died a thousand times. But this… this was different. I was so _weak_. I couldn’t protect anyone. Not even Nesta, not even after I promised her…”

Considering for a moment, Az said nothing. Instead, he slipped out from Cassian’s grip and bent down, scooping the overgrown bat up into his arms - it was a good thing he was a lot stronger than he looked, because the War General was _heavy_. “Az?” Keeping a firm grip on the man, he carried him through to the master bedroom he’d been occupying for the month they’d been staying there and plopped Cass down on the left hand side.

“No matter how big those puppy eyes get Cass, that sofa isn’t going to get any bigger. You can sleep here. Just for tonight.”

Gaping at him like he had just preformed a holy miracle, Cass watched him as he stripped off to his birthday suit and clambered into bed next to him, lying on his side to face him so that his wings could flop over the side of the bed. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” Az said with as much nonchalance as he could manage with Cass’s face _so close_ and his breath _so hot_ as it danced across his face, tickling his lashes. “What else are husband’s for?”

“I thought that pretence shamed you for all eternity.”

Studying the big goof of a war hero before him, Azriel smirked in spite of himself, reaching over and brushing Cassian’s fringe out of his eyes. “I could never be ashamed of you. You’re family. And you’re my closest friend.”

“Except Mor,” Cass pointed out.

“I don’t know about that,” Az said under his breath, his fingers lingering in Cass’s hair, curling and uncurling loose strands around his forefinger. “Sometimes… it feels like she’s keeping something from me. And honestly, I don’t think I have the right to demand it from her. I keep things from her too.

“But you,” Az sighed, “you found them out by fate. It was inevitable, what with us going on so many missions and battles together.”

“You mean… what happens to you at night? What you say in your sleep?” Cass said, a little more clunky in his phrasing than perhaps intended thanks to the alcohol.

“...Yeah. And other stuff.”

Silence enveloped them once again, though they were so close, knees touching, that they could each hear the other’s breathing, the other’s heartbeat. Smell the alcohol and ink on each other’s skin. “I could never be ashamed of you either, Az,” Cass said finally, catching the hand stroking his hair as he looked over at the man whom he had known since he was just a boy frozen in ice, new to a world beyond four cramped walls. “I think you’re brilliant.”

Az snorted softly, a wry smile on his face. “You’re not so bad yourself. Now go to sleep, else this hangover is going to kill you.”

“Know it all.”

“Moron.”

“Goody two shoes.”

“Fool.”

Sniggering, Cass leaned forward suddenly, too quickly for Azriel to react. He pecked him softly on the forehead. “Night husband.” Az watched him flop back into the sheets and pass out within a couple of seconds, the booze sweeping him under. He watched him breathe, slow and steady, as his own heart raced.

“Good night.”  


	2. Feelings Are Overrated, Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tense change half way through because present tense for the win.

‘Just for tonight’ Az had said. Just one night would he allow Cassian to cuddle close to his chest and tickle the sensitive skin of his neck with that unruly mane of his.  

Cauldron, that oversized bat was turning him into  _ such _ a liar. 

“You’re so dirty,” Cassian remarked one night together, with complete innocence as he looked Azriel over, who was naked save for his black boxer briefs and the mud smattered across his body. “The hell were you doing?”

“Not getting caught,” Azriel snipped back frostily, hating the way his ears and face burned under such close scrutiny. Hating the way he wondered if Cass’s gaze caught on the planes of his muscles, on the bulge of his groin, on his lips, or if it were all just wishful imaginings. Not that he… not that he  _ wished _ for any such thing. He just-

“You know, because at least  _ one _ of us has remembered we’re supposed to be on a mission here,” he snapped, cutting off his own train of thought quite nicely, thank you very much. 

“Hey, I’m just cementing our cover story.”

“Having daily bake offs with our neighbours is hardly mission work.”

“On the contrary, there is no faster route to true friendship than through the stomach,” Cass countered, nodding with an air of sagely wisdom that he definitely had not earned.    

“Besides, people are going to start asking questions if they see you sneaking back home looking like you’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards,” he said, and Az couldn’t believe that  _ he _ sounded like the sensible one. All of a sudden he felt like a petulant child throwing tantrums, and he had no idea how this could possibly have happened. Cass had always been the goofball, the one messing up or acting like a supersized kid. Yet here he was, sneaking off to go and do ‘serious mission things’ to try and avoid noticing how much of the day he spent staring at his partner, or to try and distract himself so he wouldn’t spend the entire day waiting for the chance to slip into bed beside a man he was  _ pretending _ to love. 

Yet he’d always known he’d loved Cassian, in a platonic, closer than mere friends kind of way. Always let him in closer than he dared with anyone else. So why now, when they were alone together for hours on end, distanced from all who knew their history, did he long for more than just a soul connection? Away from Mor, and the tension war and tyrants put them under, he wanted something… normal. Something healthy. Something he hadn’t dared allow himself before. 

And under  _ no  _  circumstances was he going to allow himself to give into that sinuous temptation. 

“Next time, bring me along with you, yeah?” Cassian said, a little more softly as he looked up at him. His fond smile quirked up into a devious smirk, which never failed to make Az’s stomach drop. “At least that way we can pretend we were out fucking in the forest or something.” Cass was definitely strong enough to hold him up against a tree, toes off of the ground, and fuck him senseless into the wood whilst anyone and everyone could happen upon them, strong enough to fuck him hard enough that he didn’t care about onlookers, strong enough that-

Azriel sat down on the bed, swiftly. He folded his hands in his lap, just by coincidence covering the spot between his thighs and hips. He tried very hard to look inconspicuous as his mind sunk from everyday erotica down into the actual gutter.  

“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up,” Cassian huffed, vanishing off out the door, only to return a moment later with a bucket of warm water and soap, and a wash cloth. 

“I am capable of having a bath, you know.” Certain parts of Azriel seriously questioned why the hell he was arguing with this outcome. 

“I know that, but you _always_ miss bits. Last time you still had mud on your neck for three days and it really bothered me. Honestly, elite Illyrian warrior, Shadowsinger to the High Lord, and you can’t even wash yourself properly.”  

Wishing he was more offended by that comment, Azriel bit down on several sharp comebacks in favour of letting Cassian get on with it. In letting him soak the cloth in hot soapy water, set the bucket down and kneel before him, where he remained sat on the edge of the bed. In letting him lean up, setting in between his parted legs, and tenderly scrub the muck from his shivering body. It was a warm summers night, and yet he couldn’t stop trembling. 

Since Cass wasn’t looking at his face anyway, he permitted himself to close his eyes and tilt his head back, unable to help relishing in the soothing, slow feeling of being gradually rubbed clean, of the hot water, of Cassian’s strong hands cleansing him, holding him still with fingers firm but soft, despite the callouses from swordplay. They were smoother now than ever, healed over from the months away from battles and war camps, finally given a break to allow them to relax and repair. And his fingers were the least of it. They both were finally mending old, over-picked wounds. 

 

*

 

“I think I’m in love with him,” Azriel mutters into Caroel’s lap, glaring accusingly at the three empty wine bottles on her coffee table. And he’d thought  _ he _ was the master interrogater. 

“Well, obviously,” Caroel says, patting his hair as if he were some foolish pet. “You did marry the man after all. Good catch by the way. Tell me, is his arse as fantastic naked as it looks in leather?”

“Better,” Azriel says miserably.  

“Then  _ why _ are you moping around in my living room instead of tapping that hot piece of booty every night this month? I’m starting to run out of alcohol. And I work in a bar for Cauldron’s sake!”

“You wouldn’t understand.” Azriel turns and plants his face into the warmth of her thighs, and wishes it were sexual, so he could think about something other than Cassian and his spectacular arse for at least a minute. “I’m not  _ supposed _ to love him.” 

“Look, Az,” Caroel huffs with a sigh. “I don’t know what your damage is, but love is never a bad thing. Whether you’re ‘supposed’ to feel it or not. What matters is what you do about it. Does he make you happy? Do you make him happy?”

“No. Yes. Maybe. I don’t know. I’m not good at ‘happy’.” He stares long and hard at the label of the wine bottle. It looks cheaps. No wonder he feels so awful. “But wit him… I feel like I  _ could _ be.”

“Then what’s the harm in giving him a chance? I mean  _ really _ , you should have thought about this before you married the bastard, but regardless, you’ve got him tied down for now. Give it a go. See how it makes you feel, if he makes you happy.” 

Az doesn’t know if he understands how to do that. He’s never tried being happy before. Always, his goal in life has been to survive, to help and aid others to make up for the fact that he should not be alive. The concept of living even partially for his own needs, wants, desires… It terrifies him, but also kindles a warm kind of fancy in his stomach. A fancy that conjures images of Cassian, holding him close and cradling him to his broad chest, making him laugh and sigh and smirk in exasperated fondness. Makes him think of that soul deep instinct that they must never be parted, that through thick and thin, always they have been together.  

It hits him like an avalanche. 

 

“I think he might be my mate.”


	3. Is This The Real Life?

“You’re not chopping them right.”

“Cassian, I have killed more people than you have fucked. I _know_ how to use a knife.”

“And yet here you are, butchering an onion, and not in a delicious way.”

“I worry that you have to clarify that butchering isn’t delicious. Have you been reading weird books again?”

Too frustrated by Az’s incompetence to banter, Cassian whines in anger before relinquishing his promised post of watching - and _only_ watching - by the stove. Crossing the cramped space of the kitchen, he slips behind Azriel and takes his hands in his, chest pressed flush against his back, hot breath ghosting Az’s ears. The worst part?  

The worst part is Az _moans_.

“You’re crushing my wings,” he grunts to try and excuse the humiliating noise of arousal he let slip.

“You’re crushing my faith in our species, our gender. We menfolk _can_ be good cooks, Az. Stop enforcing gender stereotypes.” Az would despair at his words, really, but all he can focus on is how close and warm and wet his breath is, how he can feel his groin pressing firm against his arse, how the heat of the boiling water is making him dizzy and his stupor has nothing to do with how horny he is, how he hasn’t had a good fuck in years and now Cassian’s scent is so alluring and sensual and _there_.  

“Okay, so, for starters you hold the knife like _this_ when you’re slaying vegetables. Now you cut it in half like this, then slice it like this. There you go. Not so bad afterall. We’ll make a Kitchen Wench out of you yet, husband dearest.”

“Must you call me that?” Azriel wants to hear it over and over but he wants it to be real and Cauldron, when did he become such a hopeless romantic?

“Can’t you just let me be proud of my beloved for a moment, Az?” Cassian’s voice has gone soft and warm and it is melting what little composure Az had left.

Silence settles in the cottage, broken only by the knife Az wields and Cassian guides. Together they dice the onions, add them to the sauce, and set the boiling spaghetti to simmer. The prep work is done, and yet Cassian keeps close.

“Not half bad,” he murmurs into Azriel’s ear, still pressed against him, still with his arms around him. Az thinks for a moment he is going to kiss him but then the bastard grins and chuckles and wraps him in a tight hug from the back, in an oh so manly-bros way. “You’ll make some lovely girl a wonderful house wife yet!”

Az laughs, but there is no heart in it, obvious even to his ears. He can’t even really smile. He is lovesick and it is eating him from the inside out. Falling silent, Cass loosens his grip, but keeps close. So close. So quiet and watching and dear Mother above Azriel prays, not observing. Not noticing. For there is so much to notice, and so much to lose.  

“You really are something, Az,” Cass says in that low sincere voice of his, the one he only uses in the early morning or the dead of night, after a bottle of wine. Gone is his usual comedic banter, his mask of joy and brashness. He is soft and vulnerable and such a bleeding heart, Azriel can’t imagine not loving him. Not drowning in that big ocean of limitless kindness. The Warrior with the golden heart. Is he a fool for loving such a contradiction?

“I’m nothing without you,” he says too honestly, hastily adding, “without all of you.”

He is acutely aware that he is no longer resisting, but rather relaxing back into the broad chest enveloping him, that he is sinking into the muscular embrace enclosing his nervous frame. His eyes are half closed and his breathing slow. Wine going to his head, his cheeks, his cock. Just- Cauldron, just let him have this moment. This heady scent of Cassian so close and tender.

Broken. Cass breaks away, suddenly, so that Azriel nearly stumbles back were he not trained so well to catch himself. “Well,” Cass says to loudly, clearing his throat. “I’ll set the table. I’m damn hungry after having to watch you nearly ruin the easiest meal in the book.” And he does, he busies himself with plating up the table and arranging, then rearranging cutlery, until Azriel is starting to wonder if maybe… 

Maybe he feels it too?

 

*

 

“I think I’m in love with him.”

“Cauldron boy, you’d better start saying something new or I’m going to suffocate you with a cushion.”

“I think I’m _really_ in love with him.”

Cassian is too drunk to fend of Caroel’s attempt to murder him with the sofa cushion, but thankfully she relents once he vows to talk about something else in a muffled shout. “You’ve been saying this since I met you and your fantastic arse, Cass. And yet I still don’t understand why it’s a problem for you to be in love with your husband.”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“Yeah, that’s what you both keep saying, yet it still doesn’t make sense.” 

Cassian starts to snort, then cuts short. He sits up very quickly, knocking the wine bottle that was balancing on his stomach onto the floor. “Wait. What we _both_ keep saying?” Caroel looks pale.

“Oops.”

“You mean-”

“I mean I have had this conversation with the both of you so many times I am considering moving just to hear something other than gay angst for once. Although to be honest most straight people are just as bad, if not worse.”

Cassian is very very still for a moment, before he stands, wobbling a little. Caroel, in a very drunken sort of way, cheers. “Yes! Go tell him of your epic love. Get some _communication_ going. Dear Cauldron, please, _please_ start communicating. You’re both far too brooding.”

“I…” Cassian starts, swaying on the spot.

“Are off to confess your epic love?” Caroel guesses hopefully.

“I’m going to be sick.”

Cass spends the rest of the night having his hair held back whilst he pukes into a bucket, and he’s not sure if he made up the ‘great reveal’ in his drunken stupor or not, but what he is sure of is that he is helplessly in love, and if he could only summon the courage, he’d tell his fictional husband his confessions of adoration are the truest things he’s said all year.  

 

*

 

“Is this… what being married is like?” Azriel asks from where he lies horizontal on the sofa.

“What? Blissfully full, wrapped in the arms of your significant other, having spent the day fussing over dumb domestic things like the garden and what we’re baking for the village fair? Maybe for normal people. But I imagine for us, when we return to the night court, it’ll be wholly different.”

Azriel isn’t sure how he feels about that. Baking and gardening and fixing bits around the cottage should be mind-numbing, and yet Cassian is always there to help or make jokes or drive him up the wall. True, he could survive without the domestic bliss. But he’s not sure how he’s going to survive returning to sleeping alone, eating alone, breathing alone.

Lying together on the sofa, facing one another, Az can taste Cass’s breath on his, as garlicky and wined as his own. His massive body radiates heat and comfort and everything so foreign and yet appealing about this place. This realm of normalcy he has never been allowed to get acquainted with before.

“You won’t have to put up with my cooking, I suppose,” he says, trying for humour.

“You know, you’re not half bad now,” Cass mumbles, shuffling in closer so that he - and Az has to catch his breath he’s so surprised - brushes their noses together. “Having been taught by such a genius.”

“A genius with an ego to match his stomach.”

“Don’t you go body-shaming your husband, twiglet." 

Azriel is chuckling fondly as he prods the soft paunch of Cassian’s abdomen, which has softened and curved from months of bake-offs and drinking and having to keep the training to a minimum lest he be discovered. “I like it,” Azriel whispers, leaning in and smiling in a way that entirely betrays how drunk he is. “It makes you feel… happy. Safe. _More_ of you.”

“Well then, if my _husband_ likes it,” Cassian purrs, in a voice so sexy Azriel fears he may actually be getting hard - it’s hard to tell when he’s this fuzzy on wine. “I guess I’ll just have to keep it.”

“Good,” Azriel purrs back, confident on alcohol and flirtation and Cauldron he really is hard, hard enough that his cock is pressing against Cassian’s thigh and why is he doing this? “Because it’s sexy as fuck.” How can he be exposing himself like this? Cassian will hate him if he realises. Flee in disgust. The mission will be ruined all because he couldn’t keep it in his pants.

“Oh?” Cassian is quirking an eyebrow and theres something in his gaze, raw and primal and hungry that Azriel thinks he understands, is realising he’s felt for far, far too long. “I’m _sexy_ now, am I? Not moronic, or idiotic, or brash?”

“Oh, you’re so still all of those things,” Azriel hisses, realising they are pushed flush against each other, the only thing between them his hand resting on Cass’s plush stomach. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want you.”

“Mhmm? Is that true?” Cass is muttering into his lips because are they kissing? Is it real that he can feel their lips brushing and plying at one another, can he really taste Cass’s tongue on his and dear Mother, is he drowning in fantasy or in his best friend’s mouth?

“I don’t know any more,” Azriel confesses, voice cracking because he thinks he’s going mad, and the booze isn’t helping. “All I know is I think you might be the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“I love you,” Cass mumbles into his lips, and they fall, back onto the sofa, and surely-

Surely what follows is but a dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 3 glasses of wine + 11pm = accidental kinks and utterly self-indulgent trash. #NoRegrets


	4. I Want Your Hot Hands On Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written on only a glass of wine but also no real lunch or dinner, so... well. It's in keeping with the trend of the past two chapters, let's say! 
> 
> 1-3 chapters to go! My god. Am I actually going to finish a multi-chap WIP? SURELY not!

Az wakes up the next morning still in his underwear but only in his underwear, and his crowning accessory is a vague but prevalent headache. He is overheating and slicked with sweat and pinned to sheets by-?

He twists his head around to find that the weight keeping him pinned to the bed is none other than Cassian. Cassian, even more naked and even more beautiful in the early morning sunlight than in candlelight tinted by a drunken stupor. His lips are chapped, his face peaceful and serene. So different from last night. So different from the low, primal growls and utterly delicious and sinful laughs that had resonated dark and guttural in the back of his throat, the kind that harden Az’s cock just to think about.

Az requires nothing more than a glance at those rubbed rough red lips to remember what happened last night. How they kissed and licked and bit deep into the night. How they stretched into the early morning hours, exploring one another with their curious, un-coordinated mouths. How Cass tasted like fire and sweat, and how everything had felt so right for one surreal, hazy night. 

The things they said. 

The confessions they made.

The heartache.  

“I’ll never leave your side Cass,” he’d whimpered as the other had sucked at his nipple. “Not if- if you’ll let me stay.” 

“I like to think I’m a reasonable man, Az,” Cass replied between teeth pinching flesh and tongue grazing nerves. “Yet I don’t think I’d have it in me to  _ let _ you go now.” 

“Don’t,” Az pleaded. “I- No one’s ever fought for me before.”

“That’s a lie,” Cass replied, gripping his jaw and claiming his mouth. Between long kisses he finished, “I’ve always fought for you.”  

Azriel has always felt most at home in the shadows. This dawn brings with it too much uncertainty and too much potential for betrayal, awkward laughter, shrugging it off as drunken hormones. He can survive it, he tells himself, he can survive Cass not wanting him.

He has always excelled in lying to himself.  

“Morning,” Cass mumbles into his pillow, sleepy and unaware that Az’s stomach is a whirlwind of unrest because what if it was all a mistake. Wine has made him do worse many, many times before. “Y’alright?” Cass slurs, and Az can’t help but dwell on how he so dearly  _ loves _ Cass in the mornings, all slow, clumsy limbs and drool stains and unabashed yawns. Almost like a puppy, were he not a killing machine made flesh. 

“Bit hungover,” he answers in what he hopes is a casual, ‘so last night was hilarious’ manner. 

“No, Az, babe.” Cass grunts to prop himself up onto his elbow, blinking at him with bleary eyes, fringe in his eyes. His stupidly adorable bun is a mess, more down than up, but Az loves it, loves how it makes him remember how it felt to knot his fingers in that beautiful hair. “I mean, you alright after last night? We were pretty smashed.”

“Yeah.” He laughs hollowly. “The things we do drunk, huh?” Why is Cass staring at him like that? Doesn’t he knot it’s torture every moment he has to try and pull up some kind of mask to conceal how open and stolen his dead heart is? Keeping everything wrapped up inside was so much easier than this. At least then he didn’t have to worry about it ruining other people and their precious opinions of him. 

“Az,” Cass says, quiet. Looking at him, dark intense eyes, like a hero from some gothic romance. “I’d do it again sober. You know that, right?”

Az did not know that. Az did not dare hope for such a kind truth. He did not think he was the kind to be allowed such a fate. He is so convinced he cannot be allowed to be so  _ happy _ that at first, he does not believe it. “You mean like… like one of your one night ‘adventures’?”

“Cauldron Az, we have got to work on your self-esteem issues someday.” Suddenly Cass is moving, - unusual for him within the first hour of waking - moving and sitting himself up so that they are a breath's distance apart. A breath close. “Like I meant what I said last night. That I love you.”  

It’s all too fast for Az to ever let himself believe it is true. Yet there Cass is, pressed against his shoulder, so warm and tender and  _ there _ . “I don’t-”

“I promise you, Az, I wouldn’t say this if I didn’t think I’d go insane keeping it quiet any longer. I know you don’t see what I see when I look at you. I know you don’t think someone could love you.” His calloused hand is cradling Az’s jaw and he thinks he might cry were it not for the shock. “But I do, Az. I love you. I always have. Since you first punched me into the snow.”

A more composed Az would make some snide joke about Cass and his fucked up kinks, but composure is not a word he comprehends at this moment. He is a deer in the torchlight as he stares back at the man he has spent his life with, a man he has trusted entirely in order to survive, and for a moment he doubts him. Because that’s how his brain works. It is doubt and distrust and protection because so, so many have torn him from the inside out.

Those doubts are silenced, however, when Cassian kisses him.

His mouth is less seeking than it was last night, cautious and caring and Az is crying. He is crying, because how on earth does he deserve this brash, moronic, impossible, insufferable, endlessly loving, kind, talented, caring person’s affection? He didn’t think he would ever be allowed  _ this _ . And as he cries he mourns all the wasted years, keeping himself cold and distant so that he didn’t have to grapple with what it means to be loved. To feel so utterly helpless to resist. In that kiss, unremarkable as it is, he surrenders his control. Because with Cass, he knows he is safe. Knows, however hard it is to believe, that he is valued.

Loved. 

And that knowledge ignites something within him that has been crushed into dormancy for too, too long. He pushes up onto his knees and towers over Cassian, sinking into him with heavy, wanting kisses, seeking what five centuries have missed out on. He wants everything. He wants it all, to really feel, because maybe Cassian is right, maybe, just maybe, he does deserve to be happy, even if it’s just for a morning. And he shall take his fill, from Cassian’s rough lips, for no place is more familiar than that handsome face.

“I really, really love you, Cass,” Az whines into his lips, trying to ply from them some kind of solace, some relief from the sensation of his chest cracking open. Why did the books never tell him how much this kind of love would  _ hurt? _ “You are everything to me. And it’s terrifying.”

“I’m not,” Cass mumbles back. “You have Mor, and Rhys, and Feyre, and Amren, and all the others. They all love you too.” He is stroking his hair and cradling him close, because fuck, Azriel is really weeping. Since when did he become so emotional, so open? What has married life done to him? “We all do, Az. We all think you’re brilliant. And this is how I want to show you that.” He strokes his brow, gazing up at him with such adoration that Az cannot believe he is  _ him _ , that he should be looked at in such a way. “I want to give you everything you deserve. And that is so much more than you think.”

Az should deny it. Say he isn’t worthy. For he has been taught that asking for too much ends up in burns and scars and outrage. Yet he hears himself mumble, “Show me.” 

And show him Cass does.

Naked, their exposed flesh, bare limbs, softened bodies interlocking, they sink from needy kisses to the kinds of moans that make them grateful they live alone, the kind of rushed breathing that reminds them of training, of when they hit flesh on flesh for something entirely different. Now they collide for pleasure, for the ecstatic moans that Azriel spills upon the pillows, for the way Cass’s breath hitches as he comes inside his lover. It is rushed and needy and oh so feverish, for five hundred years of waiting does things to a person. To a libido. 

“Fuck,” Az gasps as he collapses back into the bedsheets, exhausted and wrecked completely by Cass and his fucking enormous wingspan. 

“Az,” Cass says as he slips into half-sleep, exhausted and still maybe a bit hungover and so blissfully content. “Az wait, before you go to sleep.” He is holding his hand and there is urgency in his voice, his face when Az cracks open an eye. “I need to ask you something.”

“Yeah?”

“Will you marry me? For real.”

It should shock him. Terrify him. Send him running. 

Yet instead he tugs the overgrown bat close to his chest and kisses his forehead. “I’ve already said yes, idiot. You think I’d agree to this kind of mission with just anyone?”

“You didn’t want-”

“Cass. I want to spend my life by your side.” It is not a lie. Even if he did not kiss or fuck or even fantasise about the man again, he could not bear to part from him. 

“Yes. Always, yes.”


	5. Admiral Ackbar: It's A Trap!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I drink two fingers of rum and this is what happens? Man I'm a lightweight. 
> 
> Penultimate chapter. The final chapter shall be smut and fluff for smut and fluff's sake, so if you're not into that shit, it's been lovely having you, and I hope you've enjoyed the slightly tipsy, ridiculous ride. 
> 
> x

Rhys can communicate with Cass and Az through merely his  _ mind _ , no words needed, and yet he cannot make heads or tails of the letter they have sent him. 

Amren is staring at the letter over his shoulder as if he is holding some miracle made paper. He wonders if she understands better, for she seems so shocked, she must grasp some part of what is happening. “You have any idea why they’re being so… cryptic?” He asks her with naive hopefulness. His stomach shakes as she shakes her head.

“I’m just amazed Cassian can  _ write _ . First reading, now this? Next he’ll tell me he actually has a brain.”

She snarls when Mor slaps her briskly on the shoulder. “Don’t be rude.”

“I’m not being rude, I’m-”

“Can we please focus on how our two best friends, whom we have not seen in a year and who have been dwelling in enemy territory, suddenly want to meet with us in a shady location on a mountain in the middle of nowhere, with absolutely no explanation as to why other than ‘you shall see’?” Rhys is not in the mood for squabbling. He has sorely missed the presence of his illyrian brothers, and this really is not the start to the reunion he’s been yearning for.

“Do you think this ‘Koschei’ taught Cassian to write?” Amren asks. Rhys takes his turn to whack her. 

“Okay just because I no longer possess my angelic form, does not mean you  _ mortals _ get to touch me.”

“One of us now, darling,” Mor says with a smirk. “Slappy fights are all part of being fae.”

“Only I get to slap you, ‘darling’,” Nesta drawls half-serious, half-seductive from where she rests upon Mor’s shoulder. Rhys is still getting his head around  _ that _ latest development. 

“Eurgh,” Amren huffs, turning her nose up at their public displays of affection as they start rubbing noses. Of course, her haughty disdain is somewhat ruined by the fact that she then inclines her head to shamelessly kiss and tongue Elain who sits curled up on the sofa beside her. 

Rhysand is happy for them both, really he is, but he is starting to feel like the odd one out being the only remaining member of his original squad who is in a heterosexual relationship. He really,  _ really _ needs Cass and Az back, before he has to hear  _ again _ about the superiority of scissoring over ‘boring old penis and vagina sex’. Feyre, who is perched on the armchair beside him, pats him soothingly on the arm. She for one finds the whole thing rather wonderful, but then apparently she has been ‘shipping’ Mor with one of her sisters from the start, whatever that means. 

“So, what are we going to do?” Rhys asks, trying to force the conversation away from silent face-sucking. He cannot believe that  _ he _ , The ‘Whore of Amarantha’, is the one who has to tone down the sexual tension in the room. “This entire thing reeks of a brainwashing trap. Are we to meet them anyway?”

“Cauldron Rhysand, of  _ course _ we are,” Amren huffs, disgruntled at being interrupted from where her hand was going upon Elain’s flushed body. “When have we ever turned down the thrilling opportunity to winnow straight into a trap?”

“Personally, I’ll be highly disappointed if it’s not a trap,” Mor adds.

“As High Lady of the betting pool, I’m putting my money on Cassian having been turned into Koschei’s sex slave. Probably willingly,” Nesta says. 

“My money’s on that too,  _ and _ that he thinks we won’t believe it’s a trap,” Amren agrees. Elain giggles, humming before saying,

“I think Az will have taken over Koschei’s whole operation and be running this entire thing.”

“Am I the only one that thinks they just have some goofball ‘surprise’ in store for us?” Feyre asks, as Rhysand buries his face in her shoulder out of despair at his court members. Chuckling, she strokes his hair fondly.

“Only one way to find out.”

 

*

 

Cassian can hardly believe this is happening. “You ready?” He asks Az, who stands opposite of him. Az just nods, his throat too tense to articulate words. They both laugh at one another’s expressions, an obvious mix of excitement and terror. “Think they’ll show?” Az shrugs. Cass laughs. “Think you’ll be able to speak for the ceremony?” 

“Not a chance,” Az drawls with a hoarse laugh, taking his hand in his. Cass can feel him trembling, subtle as it is, his palms clammy. “However they react, I love you.”

“I love you too. Whatever the straights say.”

They both snigger a little too manically from nerves, clutching each other’s fingers tight. “It’s going to be so weird. Everyone else is so… Nesta was expecting me to… and I think Elain was- for you… Or at the very least Mor…”

“You know,” Az interrupts his awkward mumbling, “somehow, I think they’ll all be okay with it.” 

“I hope so.” Cass grins back, then glances over at the priestess they winnowed away from the library for just this one strange, magical day. “I trust them to do so.”

Just as they fulfill the awful cliche of staring into one another’s eyes, six new bodies snap into existence through a shock of smoke and shadow, dotted across the snow covered mountainside. The silhouettes condense and reveal themselves to be their six best friends, but not as they’re accustomed to being greeted by them. Rather than running to hug them, they materialise armed, wings and weapons out and readied, magic crackling at their fingertips. 

Upon spotting just the two Illyrians, however, they still, and relax. “Oh,” Rhysand blurts, in a not-very-High-Lord-like manner. “It’s just you two.”

“Told you,” Amren sighs, flicking her fingers to dismiss the lick of flame that had danced around them and inspecting her nails all in one crushingly fierce movement. 

“What do you mean,  _ just _ us?” Cassian demands, and maybe he should be angry but instead he is grinning because he hasn’t seen these big idiots in a year and oh shit, he’s supposed to be being serious but all of a sudden he is running and bear hugging them  _ all _ . “Feyre! Beautiful as ever. Mor, I have missed your bountiful cleavage, and not in a weird way. Amren. Still not a hugger I see. My lord, you are as rock hard as ever. In the muscle department. I was  _ not _ hugging you to feel up your cock. Not this time anyway. Elain, you look so different! Good different. Actually going outside and eating different! Nesta-” He stuttered over the last name, cringing not entirely internally. “You look… good. You look well.”

Nesta, the storm made woman, the explosion bound up in flesh, smiles softly at him. Her eyes, which he remembered as shards of grey ice, are warm, calm. “I am,” she answers, the venom he’s accustomed to from her absent. Those eyes, full of so much more than he could ever have imagined from her, flicker over to Mor, and then return. “You’ve gotten soft,” she scolds him, pinching his cheek before smiling, patting it. “It suits you.” 

“Married life treating you well?” Mor teases, but she gives him a second hug and hums contentedly to herself. “Cauldron, you are  _ so _ much better for hugging like this. I’m never letting you train again.” 

There is an awful lot of hugging of Cassian to debate whether or not his baby paunch and softened chest are best suited to hugging - all conclude that yes, training is forever banned until the next war, and hugs are the new agenda of the War General. Except Amren. Although she does for once willingly initiate physical contact with him, which shocks them all deeply - until Azriel clears his throat. He has eyes only for Cassian, and when their gazes meet, they do not part. 

“Oh yeah. Guys… there’s something we need to tell you,” Cassian confesses, still with three pairs of arms flung around him and three women cuddling up to his body. They release him, Elain gazing doe-eyed between the two of them before smiling fondly, Feyre and Mor moving in unison to raise an eyebrow at the two returning Illyrians.

Giving them a bashful grin and shrug, Cassian slips away to return to Azriel’s side, and in a manner that is almost shy, uncertain, wraps an arm around his lover’s waist. “We um. We- you see- we-”

“We’re getting married,” Azriel says in deadpan, his face better suited to a funeral than a wedding. “Now. Here. So we invited you as our family, if you care to join. If not, that is your choice.”

Silence.

Such stunned silence. 

And then-

 

“Mother. Fucking. CALLED IT.”

 

Amren, angel from another realm, harvester of blood, reaper of souls, terror of the eternal night, is throwing her arms up in the air and  _ shrieking _ . “I told you. I told  _ you _ . I told every one of you fools, and none of your believed me.” She is pointing at the others and yelling and no one knows what is going on but Cassian is fairly sure it is glorious. “What did I say? I said, they are in love. No two grown adults look at each other like that if they’re ‘just friends’. And you said I was ‘reading into things’. Enforcing the ‘homosexual agenda’. Well guess what?  _ I was right _ .” 

“Actually, I’m bi-” Cassian tried to protest, but Amren cuts him off with a hiss.

“Silence, dog. I am gloating here. Let me revel in it.”

“I could have told you this from the day I met you guys,” Nesta drawls with utter boredom. “No guy flirts with me like that unless he’s covering up some other secret love.”

“What about girls?” Mor says with all kinds of sin in her voice, which, to everyone’s disbelief, Nesta returns with a  _ leer _ .

“Well, now  _ that’s _ an entirely different story.”

Cassian, bless him, blinks. “Wait. What?”

“We’re fucking, darling,” Nesta says with such patronisation that you could easily forget Cassian has four hundred something years on her. 

“And it is  _ fantastic _ ,” Mor adds, pecking her lover on the cheek. 

“Oh, and since you people seem to put so much investment in sexual identity labels, I’m currently bedding Elain and Varian,” Amren adds in detached boredom, although she smiles as Elain flushes. “Sometimes both at once. Depends on whether or not Tarquin’s keeping him busy. Thankfully Lucien’s  _ very _ talented at keeping that particular High Lord occupied with politics.” 

“Wait,” Cassian says, frowning an awful lot and definitely not drunk enough for this. “You’re telling me you’re  _ all _ queer?”

“I’m mostly straight,” Rhysand says half-defensively, but it doesn’t really work when he shrugs and admits, “but I mean, I have fucked Lucien. A lot. So…”

“Oh please,” Amren drawls, rolling her eyes. “Who  _ hasn’t? _ ” The only one to raise their hand is Elain, who does so a certain shade of scarlet. 

“Sorry,” she mumbles, “I just don’t like… dick. Even fancy fire dick. I mean Varian-”

“Let’s not out our darling Varian, shall we?” Amren hums, pulling Elain to huddle beside her and stroke her hair a little  _ too _ suggestively. 

“This…” Cassian begins. “Is not how I thought this would go.”

“Told you they’d be okay with it,” Azriel murmurs with a half-smirk and a glance at the Priestess. “If you’re quite all done with stealing our Gay Thunder, would you mind being quiet for the ceremony?”

Even the Inner Circle can respect  _ that _ , and on command they fall silent and gather around, hugging and petting one another, but respectfully quieted. “...Can I begin?” The Priestess, who hasn’t got a clue what is going on, asks. With a nod from Azriel, the Ceremony begins. 

First, white jasmine is threaded in both of their hair, an act Elain quickly takes over, whilst the Priestess sings a low melody, calling upon the Holy Dichotomy, The Cauldron and The Mother, The Creator and The Nurturer, The Idea and The Power. As Elain takes a length of twine and wraps their joined forearms together, she sings,

 

_ May she who pours, _

_ light and life unto this world, _

_ give you every colour, _

_ every ray of light to grow and bloom by;  _

_ A world to nurture close, _

_ and endless kingdoms to explore. _

_ As we tie you close together, _

_ hand in hand before us all, _

_ may you never wander, _

_ on your own forevermore. _

 

The knot is tied, the song draws to its end, and bound both physically and before the eyes of The Mother, Cassian and Azriel look at each other. Both are shocked to see the other is  _ crying _ , shocked to find they mean that much to someone else. In uncanny synchronisation, they smile, and hug each other close. 

“I love you.”

 

*

 

“I can’t believe everyone got so  _ gay _ whilst we were away,” Cassian muses with baffled laughter as he reclines upon the roof of The House of Wind, gazing upon the stars. 

“I can’t believe we got married,” Azriel notes with a slight sharpness to his tone, “but you choose your own priorities I suppose.”

Laughing, Cassian looks over to the male sat beside him. Whatever witty comeback he’d devised, it dies in his throat as he simply stares, drinking in the sight of this creature he is now honoured with the privilege of spending his life with. “I can believe it,” he mumbles softly, an unconscious smile playing upon his lips, so warm Azriel can no longer feel the night air’s chill. “I could never have imagined living my life any way else, than a life with you by my side. The pomp and religious choir was fun and all but… all I care about is getting to be with you. And you being happy. Those two things. They’re all I need.” 

Looking back at him, Azriel exhales through his nose and contemplates those words. “I’m still not sure I understand it. Why you want  _ me _ . But I’m willing to believe it on good faith if it makes you smile like that.” Chuckling self-consciously, Cassian hides his face in his hands, then peaks through his fingers at his new official husband, who is now snickering, a rare and wonderful sight. “You are surprisingly endearing for a War General.”

“What can I say? Amren  _ does _ insist I’m a puppy.”

They laugh and fall silent, and for a moment it is just their breathing and the stars and the majesty of realising that they really  _ are _ together, for the entire world to see. “I never thought…” Cassian says after a moment, “that I could be useful and happy at the same time. I always thought- I guess I always thought I had to put others’ needs before my own so that I could actually be worth the air I breathe.” He tilts his head in Az’s direction and smiles in earnest. “But with you. Just- just showing you how much you’re worth. I couldn’t imagine a greater purpose. And it makes me so,  _ so _ happy.” 

“You have an odd way of looking at life for someone who seems so normal,” Azriel murmurs, his hand in Cassian’s hair, brushing it out before he busies himself with plaiting it to distract from the fact that he is blushing. “But… thank you. And in case you didn’t realise: You’re worth so much more than just serving other people too. You’re worth more than everything, to me.” 

“So you  _ do _ have a cheesy side,” Cassian teases, earning a tug on his braid and a snigger. 

Squirming, he stealths under Azriel’s arms and slides between them, straddling his lap and bringing them face to face, nose to nose. “Thank you,” he whispers against those shy lips, “for showing me I’m worthy of happiness.” 

“Thank you,” Azriel responds, pressing their lips together so his words are a blur of half-tears and deep, bone-wrenching, soul-aching love, “for teaching me what happy  _ is _ .”  


End file.
